


Blood Ties

by pinksundays



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic, Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksundays/pseuds/pinksundays
Summary: Under dire circumstance, Fenris discovers that Hawke is a blood mage.





	Blood Ties

**Author's Note:**

> tw: character death. this was a prompt from one of the groups I follow. If this was your prompt please let me know so that I can tag you!

* * *

The first time Fenris saw it, he couldn't believe his eyes. However, the matter was important, and they were pressing for time. As Hawke drew the knife over her palm, Fenris couldn't help but look away—not because he was squeamish, but because it felt like looking at the very essence of betrayal. Aveline voiced her disapproval (she preferred if Hawke turned to the Guard for aid instead) but even then, it's subtle and there is less... assertion in her tone. Varric is silent as always—as if he knew all along the grim secret that Hawke carried with her.

  
The blood drips from her palm—dark and thick, shifting itself into an ominous shroud that cascades to the floor like a heavy waterfall of smoke. Without warning, darkness swallows them whole and the five of them are pressed against each other by it. Within the shroud, there are whispers, and the smoke scratches against their skin like sharp feathers.

  
It felt wrong, and intrusive, as if his soul was suddenly soiled. As if a window had opened up and for an entity to peer into his mind. Thankfully, it only lasted for a second.

  
  
💀💀💀  
It takes Fenris a lot of courage and patience to come by the estate that night. A grim-looking Bodahn gives him a solemn smile, and her mabari doesn’t greet him with the usual tackle and slobber. Animals have a keen sense of emotion, after all. Hawke is in her reading chair by the fireplace—legs pulled up and held close to her chest, watching the embers glow. Her eyes are distant, missing it’s usual vigor and finesse that burned in a Hawke’s soul. Shifting the untouched tray of food, he takes a seat on the coffee table in front of her. Hawke watches as he takes her hands, then he kisses the one with the bandage before reaching up to touch the pale, ivory skin of her face.

  
_I am here. I don’t know what to say, but I am here,_ he whispers, his voice quiet and careful, but his words weighed only with love. Tonight, he would try to mend her broken heart. Tomorrow, he would mend his own.

  
  
💀💀💀  
They never speak of it. Even a month after Leandra's murder, a month since finding out that his love is a blood mage, he doesn't say anything. His whole moral compass was spinning out of control, but his heart points to one person.

  
One night, Fenris doesn’t find Hawke in her room. She was in Leandra’s. With the door left slightly ajar, he peeks in and he spots the knife on the bed, wrapped with a bloodstained cloth. The staff they had found in the Vimmark Mountains levitates before her, and the familiar shroud of black energy drifts around it. The magic she held in her hands causes her arms to tremble, and the sheer weight of it forces her down to her knees. When the shroud bursts away from the staff into a shimmering red mist, Hawke gasps for breath.

  
_I was trying to speak with my Father,_ she admits to him as he tries to help her up. There is heartbreak in her voice and Fenris can feel the fragility in her very being. It’s difficult seeing her like this. It’s difficult to accept, and it makes it even more difficult to see it again. Blood magic robbed her of her health, the colour of her cheeks, the vigor in her soul.  
It robbed _him_ of _her._

  
💀💀💀  
Swarmed by adversaries, Fenris unleashes a spirit pulse that knocks them back. Exhausted, he drops to one knee, sword in the ground to prevent himself from keeling over as he fumbles for a stamina draught. Unbeknownst to him, a sword clatters behind him, and the warrior whips around so fast that the potion almost slips from his grasp. A man is frozen in place—eyes glazed over as he emanates a shroud of black smoke around him. In the far back, Hawke has her hand outstretched and balled into a fist. Her expression is cold, and merciless, and her eyes are as black as coal. As she mutters a command under her breath, the man pulls out his crossbow, and takes a stance beside Fenris, ready to fight.

_Perhaps it would be best for the both of us,_ he tells her that night. Though he loves her, the fates are cruel. Hawke understands, and is thankful that Fenris doesn't talk her ear off about it even though she knows it bothers him, promising to only use it when necessary. She holds his hands longer than usual as they share a bed—feeling the callouses from wielding such a heavy sword, and tracing the lines of lyrium marks from his fingers to his wrists. Then she gives him an even heavier burden to bear. Fenris kisses her one last time, and in a heartbreaking whisper, agrees to her request.

💀💀💀  
Every month, Hawke sneaks into Fenris’ mansion late at night to perform their monthly ritual. She’s never scared—always smiling and joking instead—because she knows that Fenris can never hurt her. They kneel in front of each other, hands clasped and eyes shut, then Fenris releases a charged spirit pulse through her. But it’s no more than a gust of wind to the mage. It’s as Anders said, _were there a demon, it would defend itself._

💀💀💀  
They part after Kirkwall. Fenris follows Isabela for a while until she eventually docks her (stolen) ship at port in Rialto Bay. Then, he travels alone with nothing but an enchanted bag of holding, enough sovereign, and the greatsword on his back. Writing often, he keeps in touch with some of his companions—to Varric, Aveline, even Isabela if she remembers to tell him where she'll port next. But it's Hawke that his inkwell runs dry for the most. They keep in touch for years, as if Kirkwall were in flames behind them just yesterday.

  
Their paths finally cross again after four years—in a place called Crestwood. Hawke had been aiding the Inquisition, while Fenris followed strange trail of Tevinters who are suddenly in abundance in Fereldan. Arriving at their meeting place, there was blood and tracks. So many tracks. It leads him to a cave near Caer Bonarch, where a number of dead wolves littered the entrance. A cough echoes from the cave, and there Hawke lay, slumped against the cave wall. Bite marks puncture her armour, and gashes marr the flesh on her neck. Frantic, Fenris forces her to drink the lesser healing potion he has, but it barely closes her wounds.

  
_Use my blood, Hawke, can you hear me!?_ It takes her a moment, but she nods once, then shakes her head, her breathing becoming even more shallow with each breath, and her shuddering gasps like her last.

  
_Use me, **please**,_ he begs her and the hand against her wound trembles in fear. Reluctantly, Hawke brushes her fingers across his wet cheek, taking in his handsome face—the one she hadn’t seen in years. Tears trickle down the sides of her face as the mage pulls at his life-force. The rush causes spots to dance across his eyes, and Fenris’ chest tightens like he’s forgotten how to breathe. As though with each intake of breath, the core of his very soul is drained of its every last drop. When the sensation ceases, Fenris feels Hawke’s heartbeat under his palm strong, and beating with vigor again. He cracks an eye open to see long strands of dark magic extending from her being, hovering above him like sinister tendrils. Then they dissipate in a blink of an eye, and before Fenris hears her voice, there is another. A whisper, low and enticing like a siren’s song.

  
He finds a lyrium potion in an abandoned house nearby, then watches silently as she regains her usual magic. _Here, this should help,_ Hawke says, and she places both her hands on his, allowing her healing spell to pass through his being. The trembling stops, and fatigue leaves his eyes in moments. She smiles, glad to see him but he wonders how much of a stark difference there is between blood magic, and regular magic. How one takes life, and the other gives. How both can belong to the same person.

💀💀💀  
After Hawke is done with her recon in Crestwood, she heads to Skyhold with promise to meet at The Hissing Wastes. He watches her as she leaves, with worry deep in his soul. _She will tell me if she can control the demon no longer. I trust her._

💀💀💀  
If the moon would allow him to pluck it out of the sky, he would’ve already done so. The terrain of the Hissing Wastes made it as such that the moon is the biggest anyone had ever seen. The mabari beside him—Betyar of the Canyon Merchant—suddenly sits up, growling, and Fenris is ready to prime his lyrium markings when a familiar bark comes from the other side of the canyon.

  
Hawke almost crumples in his arms, exhausted and thankful to be able to see his face again after what transpired at Adamant Fortress. This time, she tells him of the whispers she hears. Of the pretty song the demon sings, and Fenris remains by her side for the next year.

💀💀💀  
They should never have come back. Nothing good ever happens in Kirkwall after all, even after all the years that have passed. _Its name is Malvernis. A bloody carta from the Vimmark mountains thought it would be a smart idea to steal the orb it was sealed in and bring it into Kirkwall to sell it. Daisy’s keeping the orb sealed, but it’s not going to hold any longer._

  
They meet on the outskirts of the city where an extremely weakened Merrill releases the orb into Hawke's care—blood mage to blood mage. Aveline, Isabela, Carver, and Varric meet the pair at the old Bone Pit—a gathering for one last hurrah against a big bad demon. Just like old times. But when both Fenris and Carver thrust their greatswords into the ancient entity's torso like a skewered piece of rotting meat, all it does is move its hand, and the two are flung into the air across the battleground like mere playthings. Malvernis gathers a dark matter into its palm and releases it with an ear-splitting screech similar to the sound of a thousand birds. Aveline reacts quickly, crouching and forcing her shield into the ground as she grabs Isabela by the waist to pull her into cover. Varric manages to leap away in time, and Hawke throws up two simultaneous barriers at both Fenris and her brother.

  
Sparks of death magic ignite the air, decaying any living matter it touches. Whatever plant life was around wilts instantly, and birds start falling from the sky. When the magic finally disperses, they look to one another, horrified, and clearly unprepared. Immediately, Hawke drops to her knees and makes two gashes to her arms. Blood drips, then pools around her like the heavy velvet of midnight as she clenches one outstretched fist. Dark wisps coil themselves around her companions, and any magic that touches it sizzles as it’s being consumed instead. Then, with the other hand, Hawke conjures up a sphere that protects her from all forms of attack as she pours her focus into her high-level spells. _Ten minutes!_ she cries out to them, her voice fused with another, reminiscent of that of Anders and Justice as one.

  
Hawke feels it—with every blow they take, with every bit of magic the wisps absorbs, her life-force drains. The whispers grow louder, more soothing and enticing until it's all she can hear. _Release me... Let me aid your allies..._ it coos, until Isabela’s shouts shatters her of her trance. Tired and swaying, she opens her eyes to see her companions unscathed, and Malvernis on the ground, slain. Blood trickles from her nose and as she releases the wispy barrier around them, her eyes roll back, her body feels light and she collapses. The demon caresses her face, trying to will her awake with its prowess. With her vision fading, all Hawke can see is the intricate lyrium markings streaking into her protective sphere that she's desperately clutching in her grasp. In an instant, Fenris has her in his arms, and he releases a spirit flux. The hovering demon screeches, pulling away from Hawke in agony as the dark energy flares and bursts from the elf. For a fleeting second, the silhouette of the Desire demon is visible to everyone.

  
_What the fuck is that, _he hears Isabela’s muffled demand. _Fenris, what the **fuck** was that?!_ He ignores Isabela, then looks down to Hawke who is barely holding on to the last bit of her sanity. Her hand trembles in his, and she nods once before she casts her last spell and whisks them as far away as she can from the Bone Pit. Away from Kirkwall. Away from her family.

  
Just before they're sucked into the vortex of her own dark matter, she hears Carver scream, his voice wracked in agony. She'd never heard him cry before.

💀💀💀  
Lothering is gone, all except the tree not far off her home near the small lake. It stands—still alive somehow after the blight—and it's where they buried her father's urn. Weakened in both strength and spirit, she seems so small in his arms. She's paler than she ever was, and her eyes keep flicking from blue to black—as if engaged in an internal battle with her demons. With what little strength she has left, Hawke sits up, facing Fenris for the last time. Wordlessly, they kiss, and she guides the sword he has in his hands towards her chest.

And it pierces through her heart.

  
💀💀💀  
Alone, Fenris collects a small bundle of flowers, and enough dry wood. Then he watches as the fire takes his love in a blaze. He gathers the ashes and sits under the tree until the sun sets. Until it rises. Until it rains. Until it stops. Until the day ends again. He'd been strong for her for many years. Strong for her until the end of her life. And now, she’s gone. He didn’t need to steel his heart any longer.

Another spirit pulse is released along with a tormenting cry of agony, and Fenris' being flares in the darkness like a lit flame, flickering ever so slightly.

Then darkness surrounds him once again.


End file.
